Chapter 1_Curtain Falls

The rain tapped like fingertips against the taxi window as Elara Voss stared at the ancient alleyway ahead, shrouded in fog and shadows. The driver didn’t say a word. They never did when you asked for Velvet.

A flickering red lantern marked the entrance, dangling above a black door carved with spirals and cryptic symbols. From outside, it looked like an abandoned theater, forgotten by time. Inside? Whispers claimed it was a different world entirely.

Elara adjusted her silk blouse, the neckline modest—by her standards. Still, her heart thudded in her chest, a traitorous rhythm. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t some wide-eyed debutante chasing forbidden thrills. She was a scientist. A woman of reason.

And yet… here she was.

Drawn to the underground.

Drawn to him.

Lucien Marek.

Europe’s most infamous Hypnotist.

The man whose voice could untangle your inhibitions like silk threads—and tie you back up, a willing puppet of pleasure.

Ridiculous, she told herself. Hype and urban legends. Hypnosis wasn’t magic. It was suggestion, observation, manipulation of the subconscious. Nothing more.

But her brother, a skilled psychiatrist himself, had warned her before disappearing off the grid:

"Velvet isn't a game, Elara. Lucien… he’s not like the others. Stay away."

Elara never stayed away from danger. Especially when it called itself science.

She exhaled sharply and pushed the door open.

Velvet was not what she expected.

The club oozed elegance. Crimson velvet curtains draped the walls, golden chandeliers dangled above, their crystals reflecting soft, seductive light. Smoke curled in the air like lingering sighs. Tables lined the edges, filled with men and women dressed in dangerous fashion—corsets, tailored suits, satin, and shadows.

And on the stage, commanding every gaze, stood Lucien Marek.

Tall. Sculpted in a tailored black suit with a crimson pocket square that hinted at the color of sin. His eyes—a predatory, liquid grey—scanned the room like a wolf among lambs.

But they paused on her.

Just for a second.

A flicker.

A knowing smirk that coiled in her lower belly like a spark of heat.

Elara’s pulse stuttered.

The crowd silenced as Lucien stepped forward, holding only a silver pocket watch. Classic. Cliché. Yet in his hands, it looked like a weapon.

"Tonight," Lucien’s voice poured over them, deep as velvet, sharp as desire, "one of you will discover how fragile your control really is."

The audience chuckled, shifting with anticipation.

Elara stayed rooted, chin high, analytical gaze steady.

Lucien’s eyes drifted to her again, lips curving.

"Volunteers?"

Elara wasn’t here to play his games. She was here to observe, to prove to herself—prove to science—that Lucien Marek was nothing but charisma wrapped in illusions.

But when his voice, smooth as black silk, curled into her mind, her certainty wavered:

"Or perhaps… the doctor in the third row, who thinks she can't be touched."

Elara froze.

The crowd turned, following Lucien’s gaze to her. Heat rushed to her cheeks, not from embarrassment—but from the unfamiliar, dangerous thrill of being chosen.

Lucien extended a hand.

"Care to prove me wrong, Dr. Voss?"

End of Chapter One

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